


No Sweeter Warmth

by Kylenne



Series: Kinktober 2020 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bath Sex, Bisexuality, Black Female Character, Everybody Lives, Exhibitionism, Gisele Surana (OC), Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Multi, Polyamory, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: In the wake of Ala Mhigo's triumphant liberation, Gisele returns home victorious to Ishgard for a spot of respite, but an unexpected surprise awaits her at Borel Manor.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Kinktober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948408
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	No Sweeter Warmth

It had grown rather late before Gisele realized it, that night in the city, though it was perhaps a measure of how quickly the time passed when spent in such pleasant company as her comrades at the Athenaeum. Elsewhere upon that unseasonably mild evening, across the immaculate cobblestone streets of the Pillars, her beloved Aymeric and Haurchefant dined with the Fortemps over at the manor. Naturally she, too, had been invited, and would have gladly joined them--had it not been for Jannequinard de Durendaire’s missive awaiting her, insisting that she join him and “Lord Rufin” for dinner. Her loves understood, in the end, and took no great offense. Gisele rather thought it would do the lads well to spend some time with Lord Edmont, at any rate—particularly Haurchefant, who was well missed by his father and brothers, having traipsed about Eorzea and far distant shores with Gisele for the past several months. And she knew Haurchefant bore them all gifts from Kugane, chosen as always with great care and affection. It would be well for them to bond of an evening, she thought.

Thus, Gisele spent her own at the astrologian academy, renewing her own bonds of kinship of a sort. She relished the rare opportunity to connect with her old friends, as she had not been back to Ishgard since Leveva’s symposium, having been embroiled with intrigues and battles across the Far East and Gyr Abania alike, and was dying to hear of it. The Sharlayan gushed at length, during long hours of hearty fare and gossip alike—always, there was gossip, with Janne—and it warmed Gisele’s heart to hear it. In the end, she at last took her leave of the Athenaeum, with warm embraces and chaste kisses of friendship. Ser Quimperain even offered to escort her home to Fortemps Manor, as old habits died rather hard, but Gisele politely declined, and thought to call upon Borel Manor instead, for she was weary and it was far closer. Hers was a standing invitation, after all, made known by the key its Viscount gifted her.

She arrived there in mere moments, greeted as always by Aymeric’s elderly steward, Jordaineaux. Gisele required naught of his services, however, nor those of the two Fortemps retainers who now served House Borel with distinction, and politely bid them a good eve. In truth, all she wanted was to soak within Aymeric’s massive tub before falling into bed. 

Climbing the broad, spiraling stair beyond the foyer to the upper echelons of the manor house, Gisele took the well familiar corridor to Aymeric’s sprawling chambers, stripping herself rather quickly of the fur-lined Ala Mhigan gown she wore, and rifled through his massive closet for the light robe of finely spun ivory silk that she always kept within. Once she slipped into it, humming softly in satisfaction at the sensation of soft smoothness against her skin, Gisele set about gathering the proper accoutrements. 

She froze a moment as she hoisted her thick, silver curls atop her head; perhaps it was her exhaustion, but she could have sworn she heard the sound of lightly splashing water. Straining to listen for it once more, and failing to hear it a second time, Gisele shrugged a little, then secured the massive bun of curls upon the crown of her head with a jeweled clip, and poured herself a glass of pale pink wine from the cabinet. It was a Lominsan vintage she had gifted Aymeric some time prior, and one she favored in kind.

So prepared for her evening of solitary hedonism, Gisele sauntered for his bath chamber with her wine. It lay behind a thick wooden door at the far end of the bedroom, and was by far the most elaborate room in all the house, with its intricately wrought trellis and veritable hothouse of lush plants, gilt marble tiles heated by a hidden hypocaust against the Ishgardian chill, and shelves bearing all manner of perfumes, oils, and potions. Ser Aymeric de Borel was, by all accounts, a sober and disciplined man, bearing little in the way of vices—save one, as Gisele was all too glad to discover, for it seemed among the many qualities they held in common, they also shared a great love of luxuriating in the bath, and his was as well stocked as her own. Beyond a large, mahogany screen, at the furthest corner of the room, lay a positively massive soaking tub, hewn from exquisite marble, fed by a fountain upon the nearest wall. And, of a surety, this was the true reason Gisele sought out Borel Manor this night, not merely for proximity’s sake. Betimes she even dreamed of that tub, particularly in dusty Gyr Abania.

When she shut the door behind her, and turned that corner to face the object of her desire, Gisele spied none other than Estinien Wyrmblood sitting within it, scrubbing his left arm with a great deal of intent. As soon as she noticed him there, he lifted his gaze to her, and if he was at all as startled as she was, he did nothing to show it.

“I suppose there went my peace and quiet,” he said, with a chuckle.

“Estinien! What on earth are you doing here?” Gisele cried, doing her level best not to tip the glass with her suddenly all too trembling hand.

“Having a bath. What does it look like?” Estinien replied, typically deadpan.

Gisele snorted. “Jordaineux failed to mention you were here, when I arrived.”

“He wouldn’t have known. I didn’t come in the front,” Estinien said with a shrug, squeezing out his soapy pouf.

“You broke into Aymeric’s house--our house--to have a bath?” Gisele asked incredulously.

Estinien grinned rather impishly at her, his blue eyes fair sparkling with mischief. “Isn’t that what you’re doing this very moment, my lady?”

“ _I have a key_ ,” Gisele insisted with a pout, placing an indignant hand upon the generous curve of her hip.

“So do I—and I had it first, I might add.” 

Gisele could not help but laugh, at the slight quirk of his brow when he said it, and the faint smugness with which he did. And, as always, the faint sparkle of mischief in his blue eyes belied the brusqueness of his words. When her fit of giggling passed, she lowered a meaningful gaze upon him. “My, is this how Ishgardian lords greet their lady wives, after a long absence?” she asked, with a teasing smile. “Were you raised in a barn, ser knight?”

“I was born a Coerthan peasant, my lady,” Estinien reminded her, smirking. “Verily, I _was_ raised in a barn.”

The impish grin returned once more, spreading across his luscious mouth, toothsome and bright. And laughter rose up in Gisele once more, bubbling light and airy and echoing off the tiles. Her obstinate dragoon was absolutely incorrigible, which was the very reason she loved him so, when one got down to it.

“Oh, Estinien. Whatever shall I do with you?” she giggled, then sighed melodramatically.

Estinien reached back to place the pouf upon a little nook on the edge of the porcelain rim, then leveled her a smoldering gaze, piercing right through her as might his spear; a pleasant shudder ran down her spine, and her mouth grew dry. “Come here, that I might give you a proper greeting, then?”

Without spilling a single drop of wine, Gisele quite casually untied her robe and deftly slipped out of it, to let it fall to the heated tiles in a heap of silk at her feet. Slowly, she sauntered across the marble, her hips swaying with every deceptively insouciant step, in just the manner she knew would drive him mad. In truth, every onze of her burning blood wished to run to him; but Gisele wished to make him suffer for his constant aloofness—if only a little. And by the parting of his full lips and the heaviness of his lids, she appeared to succeed in her wicked aims.

It was the sweetest of torments, of a surety, for when Gisele gingerly stepped up and over the edge, descending into the steaming water, she had only a moment to set down her glass before Estinien snatched her into his arms with characteristic fierceness, pulling her into a tight embrace. His breath was heavy and steaming as the water when he parted her lips with a hot and piercing tongue, thrusting it deep into her mouth--nigh down her throat. She could only cling to his hair, a wet silken cord within her trembling hands, her heart pounding a staccato flurry against him as she near drowned in his passion.

“By the Fury,” Estinien at last sighed contentedly, when he drew his lips from hers; she permitted him to shift her that she might sit upon his lap within the water, and he wrapped an arm about her shoulders, resting it upon her bosom. “I have missed you, my Warrior of Light,” he murmured, idly fondling her as he did.

Gisele’s jaw clenched, and she snorted softly, suppressing the sudden fit of pique that arose in her alongside the shiver of pleasure at his touch. “You know I hate being called that,” she groused softly.

Estinien stroked her arm with a strong and gentle hand, calloused though it was, and the tenderness of it was something else Gisele sorely missed. “I…did not, truly,” he admitted. He pressed his lips against her temple, soft and apologetic. “Why does it so vex you?”

“You would mock me if I told you.”

Estinien squeezed her firmly in his arms, then raised a wet hand to Gisele’s cheek, drawing her head against his. “I know that I am brusque, and betimes quite tactless, but do you truly think so little of my regard for you?”

Gisele frowned, a sudden knot coiled in her belly. “No. And I am sorry. I suppose I just…”

Her words trailed off, as she sighed. In truth, it was a silly thing, irrational, and she was not afraid of Estinien’s mockery so much as ashamed of her own foolishness in the matter, for it was the very manner of triviality which caused so many to call her so flighty and oversensitive. Of all things, her mind drifted back to Thedas, and Morrigan’s bafflement over why she so hated being called a witch by her detractors. Gisele knew the power of words and well, deep in her bones, ever since she was a child in the alienage. It was not a thing so easily explained to those for whom such things were trivialities.

“If you don’t wish to speak of it, I won’t press you any further. Tis enough to know you mislike it, and I would not vex you again,” Estinien said, kissing her temple once more. 

Of a surety, it was not Estinien’s regard for her that Gisele doubted; but she feared nonetheless to look foolish before him in a way she had scarcely felt with anyone else, ever. Mayhap some small part of her feared that her melodramatic nature and overweening vanity were what kept him away so often, and not the visceral fears she knew he bore alongside the deep and abiding scars of his youth. Still, in the end she was undone by his tenderness. It was not something most would expect of the famously ornery dragoon, but Gisele marked it well from the beginning of their unlikely romance, and it was one of the many reasons she was so fond of him. Estinien misliked being vulnerable, that was quite true; that it came far easier to him these days was something for which she was immensely grateful. And it would not do to so repay that trust with building walls of her own, nor was it at all in accordance with her nature.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and reached for her wine. “I mislike the word ‘warrior’, Estinien. Mayhap it suits others, but for myself? I detest it. It feels rather like an ugly coat foisted upon me by a well meaning aunt at Starlight,” Gisele said, after a long sip. “I know well what it means to Eorzea, the gratitude with which they have bestowed it, and thus I do not gainsay it. But it grates upon me all the same.”

“You are an extraordinary healer, no doubt. But neither can any doubt the strength of your fury,” Estinien mused. “I should know, having been on the end of it once. And you must admit, tis a passing strange sentiment to hear from the lips of the woman who but recently bested Zenos yae Galvus in single combat, even after he had subsumed himself within a Primal birthed from the Eyes of Nidhogg, no less. I served as a Temple Knight for fully half my life, and never have I met another soul who so commanded such disparate arts upon the field, much less with such skill and grace as you. Betimes I think you might even have made the finest dragoon Ishgard has ever known, if the Eye had but turned its gaze upon you.”

Gisele shook her head, sighing, and fumbling in vain for words that she might make her intent clearer. “I thank you, Estinien, but you misunderstand me. Not since I was an apprentice in Kinloch Hold have I felt any manner of unease at wielding the power to destroy, alongside that of restoration. We had a saying in the Circle, that the mage who cannot hex cannot heal.”

“Then why do you so detest the name of warrior?"

“That’s just it—tis the name itself which grates upon mine ears. Words bear meaning, love. We were taught as such as babes in the Circle. I choose mine with care, or so I strive; as surely as I choose the silk which adorns me, or the carmine for mine lips. And ‘Warrior’, to me, conjures not the skill in battle you so admire, but the ax-slinging marauders and sellswords of Limsa Lominsa, all fury and raucous airs, who fight without cease. Make no mistake, I would not disparage their skill for anything. Nor would I ever deign dismiss the history and weight of such a title as Warrior of Light, not as a foreigner to this world—truly, I am humbled that Eorzea should think me worthy of the mantle of her greatest heroes, those who gave their lives to so protect her at Carteneau. But I hear a hardness in that word ‘warrior’ which does not suit me, and discomfits me.”

Estinien blinked. “It’s the aesthetic of the word you mislike?”

“…yes. Oh Estinien, I do not expect you to understand. I scarce understand it myself. Maker knows I am betimes a vain and flighty creature, and I cannot help it. But a ‘Warrior’ is hard, encased in an ironworks, and can never be hurt. And I hear in that the echoes of how I was treated in my homeland, where women like me were denied our maidenhood, rather viewed as naught but mules to be worked and abused, to thanklessly suffer the burdens of others and swallow our own with smiles upon our lips. We were strong, were we not? I do not like it.”

Gisele felt Estinien’s strong arms tighten around her, and she leaned back against him.

“I would not mock you for such a belief, my love. Even should I not wholly understand the sentiment behind it, still I understand the meaning of words and names, more than you might know. I myself shed the mantle of Azure Dragoon for a reason, for I came to despise what it meant to me. If ‘Warrior of Light’ should cause you a mere onze of the torment my former title came to cause me, then I shall never call you that again, and do not require a reason,” Estinien said softly. He tilted her head back, to gently part her lips with his own, brushing his tongue lightly against hers in languid ardor and no small amount of reassurance.

She exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension which had risen all unbidden in her muscles melt away. “Thank you, Estinien. That means a great deal to me,” she said.

“Tis only right and fair. But…what would you prefer to be called?” he asked.

Gisele froze slightly, her eyes a bit wide. She supposed she should have expected it, for it was a natural inquiry to make, following such a confession. Still, it startled her a bit nonetheless, and she thought on it for a long moment. Not because she doubted the answer; far from it. It was because, despite all his protestations to the contrary, her reasons for it were something he surely _would_ mock, so prosaic was her beloved dragoon.

“Know you the Leonhart Romances?” she asked, with a tremor in her hands, her heart beating in her ears.

“I know of them, but not an onze more. They were quite popular among certain knights in the order, but such things are the province of more refined men than I,” Estinien replied, somewhat wryly. “I was always too pre-occupied with swinging my spear to care overmuch for such tales. Aymeric has always adored them, though. Why do you ask?”

“Urianger introduced me to them, when first I joined the Scions. But they weave a tale of women with great power—an ancient line of sorceresses--and the knights who are sworn to protect them, powerful though they are. I devoured the first volume nearly in one sitting, so captivated I was. I was minded a great deal of the fanciful stories I read as a child in the Circle, of Orlesian chevaliers and the enchantresses who enthralled them without a single spell. The Leonhart Romances are much the same…filled with dashing knights devoted to women whom the world fears, who move the very heavens to protect and save them, such are their bonds born of intense love and devotion. I suppose these stories left quite the impression upon a young apprentice locked away in a gilded cage, for whom such romances were quite forbidden. The world feared me, for my magic—the Chantry instilled and fed that fear. The notion that a handsome knight may swear to always be at my side, even should all the world hate and despise me…it meant something, and still does. Even the disagreeable Leonhart knight, who feared making himself vulnerable until he met his sorceress.” Gisele snuggled back against Estinien. “Mayhap especially that one.” 

She braced herself for laughter, or scorn—but did not receive it. Instead, Estinien squeezed her tightly once more. “Is that why Haurchefant so often calls you Sorceress of the Red?” he asked, his tone rather curious.

“He read them too,” Gisele said, smiling. “Mayhap they influenced him, as well. But always, since long before I ever read those tales, from when I first knew my power, I wished to be like these women: beautiful, yes, and graceful, and powerful, and wise…but also well loved, and cared for. All of this, I hear, when I hear the word ‘sorceress’. So, if you must call me somewhat beside ‘Gisele’, or ‘beloved’, or ‘wife’, let it be that.”

Estinien’s lips brushed against the point of Gisele’s ear, and she felt a pleasant tingle shiver down her spine at the kiss of his heated breath upon it. “Very well…my Sorceress of Light,” he whispered to her. Gisele gasped a little, her breath hitching within her throat, as Estinien drew firm, calloused hands across her skin, beneath the surface of the water. Up they rose, to the fullness of her breasts, and lingered there, lifting and squeezing them hard, catching her large nipples between his fingers. “But, if it please my lady...I would also call you _mine_ ,” he said, purring at the last to make Gisele’s heart quiver nearly as much as her thighs, so pressed against him. She felt him stir beneath her, erect against her back, and smiled.

“Mmm…I think I should like that even more—”

She heard a sudden, loud click in the distance and stopped in mid-sentence; Estinien’s hands froze upon her, and Gisele’s heart pounded from aught beside the rising tide of desire within her, with an inrush of cool air as the great mahogany door opened unto the bathing chamber, and the telltale click of thick, familiar heels upon the marble to follow. 

“Patience, my amorous husband! Or I’m likely to drop this, and I would be heartbroken to so lose it.”

“I have been patient this whole night, and I cannot wait a moment longer! Besides, your lips are far sweeter than any La Noscean vintage, to say naught of the tap betwixt your luscious thighs…ahh, how hard you are. I would drink my fill of it, my love…!”

“Haurche…ah!”

Gisele did not know precisely why such risqué talk that would sound hopelessly and disgustingly crass from the lips of any other man always set her body aflame when it fell from Haurchefant's. Perhaps it was the sincerity with which he spoke it, or the eloquence of his lustful poetry. Nonetheless, coupled with the telltale rustling of finery, and Aymeric’s soft, answering gasps of pleasure—not to mention Estinien’s lustful hands, returned to groping her—it stirred a pulsing cauldron of heat between Gisele’s own thighs like little else. She slipped a hand between them, the other behind her, for it seemed she was not alone in her yearning. Estinien’s thick shaft was searing hot and hard as stone in her grasp, and he sighed a delicious groan when she ran her hand up and down it, against the mild resistance of the warm water. Gisele leaned back into him and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the sensation of his kneading caresses upon her bosom, and his phallus growing ever harder within her grasp with every stroke of her eager hands.

_“Gisele—Estinien?!”_

She was stirred from her sensual reverie by their cry, in near perfect unison, Aymeric and Haurchefant; Gisele’s eyes snapped open, and the two of them were suddenly standing before the steaming tub, looking for all the world like a pair of hedonistic young lotharios. Aymeric held the selfsame bottle to which Gisele helped herself earlier, with a pair of the selfsame glasses. His belt was undone, and the profuse bulge some ilms below strained against the half-unraveled lacing of his snug breeches; Gisele bit her lip to see it, and his shirt of sapphire blue rustled and half untucked, the soft raven waves of his hair rather artfully disheveled. For his part, Haurchefant was only slightly less tousled, the laces of his billowing oxblood shirt undone and the fine spun Hingan silk askew to bare his broad shoulder. The sight of them so mussed by one another set Gisele’s blood to racing anew, her heart pounding within her pointed ears.

“Fair evening, lads. Care to join us?” Estinien drawled, without missing a beat.

Aymeric blinked. “But when--what are you—”

“Having it on with our gorgeous wife, I thought that should be obvious. Will you get in or no?”

“He does have her tits in his hands,” Haurchefant noted quite cheerfully, and Gisele burst into laughter, shaking against Estinien, then turned to bury her face in his neck to stifle her storm of giggles. “And how glorious they are…were that I might suckle them endlessly,” he added, with a bit of a dreamy sigh.

Estinien hefted them within his grasp, squeezing them together, and pinched her nipples between his fingers once more, though harder that time—enough to make Gisele gasp in pleasure, squirming upon his lap with renewed heat. “Won’t you join us, then, loves?” Estinien rumbled, low and husky, with the caress of hot, heavy breath against Gisele’s neck, and caused her to shiver once more from sensation and implication in kind. 

Aymeric joined in the sensual laughter, snickering rather wickedly. “Well, far be it from me to refuse such a generous invitation. Wouldn’t you agree, Haurche?”

“Indeed! Otherwise I shall die where I stand of envy and desire by turns,” Haurchefant replied with scarce contained glee. “Such a delightful occasion calls for something celebratory, I think. And, mayhap, the right atmosphere…” He fetched another glass from a nearby shelf, exchanging a meaningful glance with Aymeric.

“Agreed. Ah, my dearest Estinien…you’ve much and more to learn of the singularly unique delights to be had in the bath, it seems. This simply won’t do,” Aymeric playfully chided him, as he filled the now trio of glasses. He held one out to Haurchefant, who dutifully carried it to Estinien, crouching down in a squat—and spreading his legs quite deliberately when he did.

“What more should be needful for such pleasures than a lover, beautiful and wanting?” Estinien balked, with a snort—and a watchful, sidelong eye upon Haurchefant. “You know well I’ve never been one for your…fripperies.” Nonetheless, Estinien leaned back and accepted the wine, stretching out his long and powerfully muscled legs; Gisele shifted upon his lap, permitting him to sip at his leisure, even as he idly toyed with her.

Gisele leaned back into his touch, and watched with curiosity as Aymeric scanned the myriad shelves with focused intent, then fetched a pair of colorful decanters. When he unstopped them by turns, Gisele’s senses were filled with the rich and floral scent of rose and lavender, which bloomed even stronger when he knelt by the edge of the tub, and poured the contents into the heated water. “What you name frippery, I would name rapture,” Aymeric said. He lowered a smoldering gaze upon Gisele, and she felt warmth spread across her cheeks. “Wouldn’t you agree, love?”

“Oh, yes,” Gisele said, smiling coyly at him. “Mayhap we might enlighten him as to the joys of it.”

“Would you please, my lady?” Aymeric asked, spreading his fingers to gesture toward the candelabra nearest him.

Gisele grinned, and with an inward rush of focused aether and a whispered cantrip, she drew her hand from the water and swept it in the fragrant air before her in a single graceful gesture. When she did, each of the dozen or so candles surrounding the enormous basin were kissed by gentle aether and lit to dancing flames: thick pillars upon ceramic pedestals, tiny tea lights within crystalline lotuses, and the pair of towering candelabrum standing at bookends. 

“Now, then…where were we, my Lord de Fortemps, before we were so delightfully surprised?” Aymeric asked with feigned innocence.

“I was stripping you bare, my love,” Haurchefant purred, rising back to his feet. He took a long drink from his glass before setting it down upon a nearby shelf, licking his lips. “So let mine eyes feast upon those rippling muscles I’ve so missed in my long absence, before I worship you with my mouth.”

Aymeric laughed once more, low and sultry from the depths of his belly, as his deep olive skin flushed in a rush of crimson, steely blue eyes glinting bright with desire in the warm candlelight. “What, then, are you waiting for, my lord husband?”

Haurchefant did not need to be told twice. Gisele knew him for quite the exhibitionist—a quality she shared with him, among many—and he did not disappoint, in this, making quite the show of stripping Aymeric of his exquisitely tailored clothing. With great care, Haurchefant untucked the rest of the sapphire blue shirt, and slid his hands beneath it, hooking the hem with his thumbs to lift it slowly with practiced skill, caressing Aymeric’s chiseled torso even as he slid the fabric upward, ilm by torturously slow ilm. And all the while, his eyes never left Aymeric’s. Of a surety, Haurchefant made disrobing a lover into art, and Gisele’s heart was racing as she watched the sensual scene unfold with baited breath caught in her throat. It did not help that she felt Estinien stirring beneath the water again, squirming against her; she felt his warm hand curve around her breast once more, fondling her idly as he drank of his wine and stared enthralled at them. When Haurchefant at last discarded Aymeric’s shirt, he turned rapt attention to his half unbuttoned trousers, and echoed his earlier movements, slowly sinking to his knees as he pulled down the soft leather of Aymeric’s breeches—and smallclothes with them.

Aymeric was indeed every bit as aroused as Haurchefant’s lustful remarks moments earlier implied; freed of its confines, his rigid cock stood to attention, the broad tip brushing against his lower belly, and Gisele bit her lip at the sight of him. He leaned back against the nearby wall, casting a lovely silhouette in the soft candlelight, his lids heavy, his lips pursed. And for a long, agonizing moment, Haurchefant rested upon his knees before Aymeric, gazing up at him in pure adoration and unbridled lust.

“How I want you so...” Haurchefant breathed, stroking the muscles of Aymeric’s thighs with faintly trembling hands. “I have dreamed of tasting you since the moment we parted.”

“And I you, my love. So take me,” Aymeric said. Gisele’s breath hitched within her throat at the sight of it: the broad tip of Aymeric’s phallus parting Haurchefant’s hungry lips, with his hands resting upon the crown of his silver hair to rake his fingers through short, silky locks.

Haurchefant’s ravenous hunger was matched only by his skill, which was nigh legendary; Gisele knew this well by now, for how well Aymeric and Estinien each sung his praises. And Aymeric was by no means modest in proportion, by any measure; none of them were, for all her knights had been quite thoroughly blessed, to Gisele’s perpetual delight. But Haurchefant nonetheless sucked him down deep, and effortlessly; ilm by gloriously thick ilm, his lips working the considerable length of Aymeric’s shaft with every sharp thrust he made.

“Ah...” Aymeric sighed dreamily. “How I've missed your filthy mouth, Haurche.”

And how hungry Haurchefant _was_ , for his languorous moans were nonetheless lusty and strident, muffled as they were by Aymeric’s rhythmic thrusting. For all his strength, and for all the discipline of his well-honed soldier’s frame, Aymeric fair melted within Haurchefant’s adoring mouth, groaning as his knees visibly buckled, and he was forced to lean back against the marble counter nearest the basin where Gisele and Estinien watched breathlessly. He threw back his head, and pumped Haurchefant’s mouth full over and over again, without mercy, but Haurchefant would not back down, and took all that Aymeric had to give with licentious vigor, returning it in kind—and then some. It was poetry in motion, this dance of fiercely sucking lips and desperately thrusting cock, a glory to behold.

For Gisele had always taken a great deal of sensual gratification in gazing upon her lovers at their pleasure, even were she not an active part of it, but never had she known so much voyeuristic pleasure as when she beheld her beloved knights this way, so wanton and libertine in their desires, so alluring in their beauty as they were. She could well have watched them for hours and been sated without a single touch; that she was never permitted to do so for very long was a testament to their own voracious desire for her, to draw her in. But she was not alone in her craving, for they all of them shared it, not least of whom Estinien, who stirred beneath the surface of the water, his hands wandering down Gisele’s body.

“Take him deep, Haurche,” Estinien purred, as he squeezed her inner thighs. “You were made for it.”

Haurchefant lived to please his lovers, and tilted his head within Aymeric’s grasp, his heavy-lidded gaze falling upon Gisele and Estinien, and his eyes did not leave them when he withdrew his mouth from Aymeric, only to stroke his tongue up and down the length of his shaft, massaging Aymeric’s sack within his palm, before engulfing him once more. All the while, Haurchefant’s hands slid up his thighs to grip his taut and strapping arse even as he sucked him hard and deep, and Gisele reveled in the performance he put on for them, as much as for Aymeric.

But then, after a rapturous age, Aymeric hissed sharply, his hand clenching a fist in Haurchefant’s hair, and he groaned with a shudder of his hips as he spent himself in Haurchefant’s mouth. And Haurchefant swallowed it down to the last salty drop, moaning all the while. 

Panting, did Aymeric bid Haurchefant rise to his feet, and drew him into a fierce embrace, piercing his mouth with his tongue—surely to savor the taste of his pleasure still staining Haurchefant’s lips, for Gisele knew well how such things drove Aymeric mad with desire.

“You were magnificent, my love, as always. But I fear my avarice knows no end, this night,” Aymeric said, running his fingers through Haurchefant’s short, silvery mane, drawing his palm down to caress his cheek in one single, fluid motion, stroking the sinewy muscles of his back. “For I want you all.”

Thus did Aymeric at last return the favor of undressing Haurchefant with no less grace, relieving him of his own fine garments with trembling hands and shining eyes filled with undisguised yearning. He believed himself more circumspect than Haurchefant in his desires, and quite generally he was—but not in these private moments, away from prying eyes and only among those he loved. Gisele watched with rather ragged breath as Aymeric’s silvery blue gaze openly admired Haurchefant’s tightly muscled body in carnal hunger, lingering quite deliberately between his thighs. But he only touched Haurchefant the once; tracing silken caresses across the jagged scar across his gut, still faintly shimmering to this day with the bright and terrible aether of Ser Zephirin’s unholy lance. Gisele was like to weep at the sight of it--at the tenderness in Aymeric’s touch, for she knew that Haurchefant bore a small manner of shame at being so marred, despite his pride at fulfilling his vow to protect her.

“By the Fury, I’ve missed you,” Aymeric breathed, swallowing hard. “I’ve missed you all so dearly.”

“Then come here,” Estinien said sharply, a hint of a growl in his voice, and Gisele whimpered at it—and the grip of his hand tightening upon her breast, giving it another firm squeeze. She tilted her head back against him, her back arching off his chest as she squirmed, and a fresh wave of want tingled across her body. Aymeric gracefully cleared the dais and sank down into the water with wine in hand, and Haurchefant eager to follow. Gisele was suddenly grateful for the sheer size of the tub, that it should fit the four of them so comfortably, and with more than enough room to spare. Haurchefant slid in to her left, nestled in the corner nearest her, while Aymeric sat before her and Estinien with hungry and adoring eyes.

“And how does the night find you, my dearest lady?” Aymeric asked, curving his luscious mouth into a sensual smile. Gisele’s breath hitched in her throat of a moment, as he gently reached up to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand.

“Positively delightful, my lord—particularly after such invigorating entertainment,” Gisele replied, returning his smile—and his caress, mirroring his movements with sensual fingertips, and once more marveling at the softness of his olive skin; Aymeric was never so beautiful to her as he was in the aftermath of pleasure, and how he glowed so in the candlelight, and she leaned forward to savor the taste of wine and mingled pleasure upon his pouting lips, parting them with her own.

“Full glad I am to hear it,” Aymeric purred. He offered his glass to her then, and Gisele gladly took a long drink from it, relishing the sweetness of the vine even though the mild burning; but then, with a seeming clumsiness wholly uncharacteristic, Aymeric tilted the glass but a hairsbreadth too high in the steaming air, and Gisele was mortified when wine poured down her lips in a rivulet, from the corner of her mouth and down the side of her chin.

But his intent soon became all too clear, however: Aymeric pulled the glass away from her lips and lunged forward in one smooth motion, drawing a firm tongue along her chin to lap up the spilled wine upon her skin, and an involuntary gasp escaped her lips all unbidden. She felt Estinien’s hand drift up into her mass of curls, pulling back her head and turning it slightly to rest against him with a gentle firmness...she realized then he was baring her neck to Aymeric in brazen invitation.

It was an invitation the Viscount de Borel took with an ardor quite shameless, for his lips suckled the wine from her chin, his tongue stroking the last traces of it from her jawline, and slid down her neck, suckling her hot skin even as he did the wine; Gisele’s eyes rolled back into her head, with a languid moan she could not help, so lovely was his mouth upon her.

All the while, Estinien’s other hand reached between her and Aymeric’s hovering body, sliding up her belly in the water, until it broke the surface; still it rose up her quivering flesh until finding her breast once more, to caress and squeeze it, catching her nipple between his fingers once more to pinch it even as Aymeric’s teeth lightly grazed the hollow of her throat. He moved ever lower, slow and sensual with his kisses, his hands stroking the curve of her hips; Estinien released her hair to massage her breasts in earnest, hefting them from the water’s surface, and Gisele gasped in delight when she realized he was offering them up for Aymeric’s worship. The fresh wave of need which shot up her spine when Aymeric hungrily set his mouth upon them, suckling and grazing them with eager lips and teeth by turns, set her heart to pounding, and she rose up off Estinien’s chiseled torso, arching her back as she ran her fingers through Aymeric’s soft, wet curls.

It seemed Haurchefant was content merely to watch the lustful scene unfold before him--for now. Though her own eyes were closed, Gisele could feel those of her Lord de Fortemps upon her, as she was caught between Aymeric and Estinien; they burned into her, and it stoked the flames of her rising desire as much as the soft lips and strong hands upon her, stroking and teasing her in harmonious tandem, graceful and passionate. She writhed between them, moaning softly with each kiss and caress—as much to goad Haurchefant as in genuine pleasure. And all the while, Gisele squirmed upon Estinien’s lap, her legs spreading open as if a blossoming flower, all unbidden in desperate need. Gisele missed them so…she missed this, the rightness of how their bodies fit, and the raging fires they stoked within her. She wished suddenly that they would take her in tandem, the way they did upon their amorous wedding night, which already seemed a distant dream to her, called off to yet another adventure full of intrigue on behalf of the Scions as she was so soon after.

Mercifully, there was no such accursed duty to steal her away this night. There were as yet only Gisele and her three knights beloved, and this night belonged to them and them alone.

“Does it please my lady?” Estinien breathed into her pointed ear, and her breath hitched when she felt Aymeric suddenly catch one of her nipples lightly in his teeth, suckling it hard. 

“Yes,” was all Gisele managed, with short and panting breath; when next she squirmed, she felt Estinien’s cock pressing stone hard against the small of her back, and she realized then that he was rubbing it shamelessly against her, his hips jerking up against her, and she bit back a moan. Then, too, she felt strong hands kneading her thighs beneath the fragrant water, as though they were coaxing them open even more; surely Aymeric’s, by their position before her.

“You’ve no earthly idea how much I want you,” Aymeric asked, his voice low and breath hot against her neck, as his hands drifted up her inner thighs.

“I beg of you, my lord,” Gisele whimpered.

Aymeric’s answering grin was bright and lascivious, and he slid forward to close what little distance between them there was, but not before reaching over to the distant wall of the tub to turn a hidden dial beneath a panel, causing the water to roil and churn like a storm-tossed sea. The sudden waves rolled against her sensitive flesh, heightened so by her yearning, and Gisele whimpered incoherently, writhing back against Estinien. And Aymeric lunged forward, firmly grasping her thighs once more, lifting them, spreading them onto his own, until she was sprawled as much on his lap as Estinien’s.

It was Estinien who reached down in the water, however, for Gisele looked down to see his fingers wrapped around Aymeric’s thick shaft, stroking it from base to tip again and again, and she soon joined him in kind, fondling his sack with a trembling hand.

“Take her,” Haurchefant whispered, his voice choked thick with undisguised lust; Gisele’s hungry eyes fell upon him sidelong to see his hand moving up and down in the water, upon his own cock, stroking himself rather shamelessly as he watched breathlessly with bright and amorous eyes. “Our lovely girl wants it so…see how she hungers for you both? Ah, so wanton she is!”

It drove Gisele mad with want; of a surety, she feared she might die of it, but Aymeric’s hands slid down around her thighs to grip her by the thickness of her arse, squeezing it tightly. 

“I would hear it from your own lips, my love,” Aymeric said, his voice low with that timber of command that drove Gisele mad with want.

“I need you inside me,” Gisele whimpered. Estinien began to rub the tip of Aymeric’s cock against her throbbing folds, guiding him to her entrance, stroking him as he did.

Aymeric smiled, his silvery blue eyes gleaming.

And then she gasped as he pierced her through with a single hard thrust, filling her deep to the core; it stung, in truth, with the friction of the water, but it was an all too pleasant sting, and he rested there a moment, sighing softly against her cheek. 

“Gods, I love you, Gisele,” Aymeric whispered, brushing his lips against her temple. “I love you…”

Then, his fingers dug into her hips as he rolled his own against her with that sinuous dancer’s grace she so adored, thrusting in and out of her with a languid, steady rhythm, echoing the waves of the whirlpool. Always, Aymeric was poetry in motion when he made love, and tonight was no exception, grinding slow and deep inside her.

All the while, she felt Estinien’s enormous cock rubbing against her back, his mouth upon the back of her neck, kissing and caressing her, holding her tightly from behind as Aymeric rode her from the front. She wrapped her arms about Aymeric’s neck, and he found her mouth with his own, parting her lips to stifle her moaning with a ravenous tongue down her throat. 

“By the Fury, Aymeric…fuck her like you mean it,” Estinien growled darkly, reaching over Gisele’s shoulder to grab a fistful of Aymeric’s damp black curls.

It was as though Estinien had set flint to tinder, for Gisele gasped as Aymeric pierced her hard, and Estinien’s fingernails dug sharply into her thighs, turning sharp; she sensed it, then, the shift in his aether, the imperceptible shadow yet lingering upon his soul, the desire in his blood calling it forth, to settle upon him in a crimson haze. She cried out, dancing the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain, as she felt the hint of fangs clamp down upon her neck, the hint of talons raking across her belly, down between her thighs. He hunched forward, Estinien did, grunting as he ground his cock along the cleft of her thick cheeks; the heat of the water surged against her nether entrance as he spread her, threatening it with the blunt tip of his cock. Mayhap he thought better of it, however, for he was content to merely to rub himself upon her. Pleasure enough, it was; anything else would have crossed the line firmly into pain, given the friction of the water, no matter how Gisele thought she craved it.

Instead, she surrendered to them, to the embrace of hedonism, and her soft moans of pleasure turned to gasps in ever higher octaves, until at last Aymeric shuddered against her, his thighs tensing, and he spent himself for the second time that night—that time inside her. He rested only a moment, and Gisele felt a sudden chill as she was bereft of his embrace, left barren as he withdrew...

…and then fragrant water spilled over the edge in a crashing wave upon the tiles, when Estinien roughly snatched her by the shoulder, clawing at her to manhandle her in a half moon circle in his lap, until she was straddling him. Gisele could only cling helplessly to him as he picked up precisely where Aymeric left off, thrusting deep and hard into her, as the blood haze consumed him. Aymeric draped himself across her back, stroking her damp skin, holding her tightly from behind until she was near smothered. Gisele was pinned between them, with Aymeric whispering the sweetest of endearments to her even as Estinien rode her raw. Haurchefant leaned forward upon his knees, hungrily kissing Estinien’s neck even as his fist furiously pumped beneath the surface of the roiling water.

“Spend yourself in her, as Aymeric did,” Haurchefant moaned, his voice thick with lust, breath hitching as he pleasured himself beneath the water with heavy lids locked transfixed upon their writhing bodies. “Fill her with your pleasure, my love. Look how she craves it.” His other hand rose up and grasped Gisele’s chin. “Don’t you, dove?”

Gisele whimpered against Haurchefant’s mouth as he plunged his tongue down her throat and stole the very breath from her lungs. She tried in vain to reach for him, beneath the water, but the force of Estinien’s pounding was far too intense, and she could only cling to the man she rode, leaning forward into him at just the right angle to rub her throbbing pearl against him every time he angled up into her. For his part, Estinien held her thick cheeks in a vice grip, with his claws dug into her, forcing her down hard upon his lap even as his pierced her through with his cock. It was too much for her, in the end, and she bit down hard upon his shoulder, crying out his name as the sweetest release washed over her, pleasure blooming up the length of her spine.

And Estinien’s claws raked her hips with a final thrust; with an incoherent, guttural cry, he threw back his head and bore glinting fangs, coming hard inside her. The sight of it unraveled Haurchefant at last, and he, too, spent himself, shooting milky white seed into the fragrant water with a shudder.

For a long while afterwards, Gisele lay upon Estinien’s chest, Aymeric gently massaging the back of her neck and planting soft kisses upon the nape, here and there, with the only sound that of their labored breathing and the roiling of the water—still blessedly steaming, thanks to the hypocaust. Aymeric did not possess Gisele’s arcane gifts, after all, and so had to make due. But as they luxuriated in the heat of the water, still tangled in one another’s arms, Gisele sensed the ebbing of Estinien’s aether, the dragon within sated it seemed, and he was as himself again, holding her against him tenderly.

The silence was at last broken by Haurchefant, who reached back for his forgotten glass. “I’ve not had so delightful a bath since our journey upon the Azim Steppe,” he mused aloud, with a nostalgic little sigh, and a long drink.

“What’s this?” Estinien asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Twas during our sojourn to the Far East, when we were taken captive by the Oronir, one of the strongest of the Xaela tribes which dwell upon the Steppe, and were its masters. Whilst Gisele was off scouting their rivals at the chieftain’s behest, I was…challenged by one of their allies, of the Buduga Tribe,” Haurchefant began.

Gisele suppressed a fit of giggles. Naturally, he would have to tell _this_ story. It was Haurchefant, after all.

“What manner of challenge was it?” Aymeric asked, retrieving his own glass—and Gisele’s—to top them off from the bottle.

Haurchefant’s answering grin was utterly licentious. “Ah…it might help if I explained somewhat of the Buduga. Alone among the Xaela tribes, they are men to a one…fierce and proud, whose garb is wrought to display most keenly their deliciously well-honed bodies. And when the Oronir brought we captive Scions to the Dawn Throne, their chief took a rather distinct interest in Lord Hien—and me. You see, the Buduga do not take wives, but seek pleasure in their comrades—all the more to forge unshakeable bonds which make them invincible in combat, or so they believe. And so they add to their numbers through abductions, and battle. Magnai Khan of the Oronir thought to reward his erstwhile allies with somewhat they desired—myself, and Hien."

“I’m rather shocked you came back. They sound like your lost people,” Estinien chuckled, with a snort.

“Well, twas was not my choice, in the end. Hien, with his keen insight gleaned from dwelling so long upon the Steppe, bargained fiercely with them. And, thus the challenge was set to me: I was to duel their Champion, and if I lost, the Buduga would claim me. Mayhap were it a traditional test of arms, I would have prevailed. But I had little defense for the Buduga way.” Haurchefant sighed a bit dreamily, and Gisele raised her hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter rising deep from within.

“Oh?” Aymeric asked.

Haurchefant tilted his head back, shutting his eyes with a snort of his hawk-like nose, and a wicked little snicker. “We wrestled in oil,” he replied rather casually.

Aymeric blinked. “You jest.”

“Oh, no, my heart; I am deathly serious. The combatants are stripped to the waist—which for the Buduga does not account for much, given their commendable aversion to shirts. But they don soft chaps of leather, with sacred loincloths, and each rubs the oil upon his opponent, as a gesture of profound respect. For the match itself, it is much like wrestling anywhere, but for the manner of victory: one must claim it by the groin, quite literally.”

“Haurchefant, be serious!”

“I swear upon the sacred hoplon and every saint there is that I am, dear Aymeric. And oh, it was magnificent! The warrior who challenged me is seared into my memory even now. ’Twas truly unfair, for he was the most handsome among them, with the most delectable physique…ah, I was truly undone the moment I rubbed the oil onto those taut muscles. I had no hope of victory. When his hand slipped into my cloth and took hold of me, every thought flew from my head—what few remained. I writhed in his grasp like a drunken courtesan, and that was the end of it,” Haurchefant replied, with a sheepish smile.

“Far be it from me to question the ways of another culture, but doesn't all this sound like a rather elaborate excuse for fucking?” Estinien asked incredulously. “What’s with these Buduga, that they require all this ceremony? Can’t they just enjoy a normal spot of sodomy like the rest of us?”

“Because it’s fun!” Haurchefant protested. “What good is sodomy if it isn’t _fun_ , Estinien?”

“Hear, hear!” Gisele giggled with a raise of her glass.

Estinien burst into laughter. “I’m no scholar, but that reasoning seems sound. What part does a bath play in it, though?”

“Ah…well, I was rather out of sorts following my ignoble defeat, as you might imagine given the nature of the contest. And mine own nature. The Buduga permitted me to bathe afterwards, and I sought to relieve my torment, at least. But I was not alone, for Hien came upon me in the baths, seeking to soothe my wounded pride,” Haurchefant said, with a fond smile of reminiscence. “And did he! That man has such glorious hands...so skilled and firm, and his mouth is made for sin. It was wonderful.”

Gisele’s eyes grew a bit wide then, for this was a part of the tale she did not in fact know. “I did not know you and Hien made love before the Naadam,” she said softly, as warmth spread through her cheeks. “I thought…after the victory feast, when we three—”

“Forgive me, my dove. Of a surety, it was not my intent to hide it, but there was so much with which we were preoccupied, given the coming Nadaam, and then the return to Yanxia and the campaign for Doma…truly, it slipped my mind. Are you wroth with me?”

“If I am wroth, tis only because I was not invited,” Gisele said wryly. 

“What a remarkable tale—in all respects,” Aymeric said, bearing Haurchefant a fond smile. “But what ever came of the Buduga’s claim upon you?”

“It was rendered null and void in the end, for Gisele claimed victory in the Naadam in the name of the Mol Clan, and was thus hailed khagan of all the Steppe,” Haurchefant said. “Within the law of the Steppe, the will of the khagan is absolute.”

“I took him back,” Gisele said, grinning. “I told them he was oathbound to serve me, and could not be forsworn. Which was not a complete falsehood, I suppose, but they need not know the Scions take no vows, and the Antecedent is no khagan. It was enough for them, though their despondency was palpable, and I agreed to a…brief exchange, to soothe the pique of Daidukul--the Buduga khan. But I cannot say that I blame them,” Gisele added, her grin softened to a tender smile as she slowly ran her fingers through Haurchefant’s thick, silvery hair. He reached up to gently tilt her face to his, and pressed his lips soundly against hers, teasing with a hint of tongue.

“Oh, Gisele. For all their fierce beauty, I could never have forsaken you for them,” Haurchefant said softly. “And my fondest memory of that night remains our Doman prince, besides. The pleasure we shared in the baths was born of great affection, and that is always the sweeter to me. I miss him.”

Gisele wrapped her arms about him. “As do I. But full glad am I to be home in Ishgard, back in the place I yearn for: the arms of my beautiful knights.”

She felt Aymeric rest his cheek against the back of her hair, his arms slipped about her waist; he nuzzled the nape of her neck with his nose, and pressed his lips upon it in the softest and most tender of benedictions. “And full glad am I that you are, my love. Ishgard always seems colder somehow, without your blazing sun to warm us,” he said. 

“I surely _could_ go for a spot of sodomy,” Haurchefant mused a bit dreamily. He grinned at Estinien, suddenly, bright and toothsome. “Tell me, Estinien, do you still make love like you’re hunting wyrms, ere you made your peace with them?”

Gisele smiled, still aching pleasantly from the sharpness of his earlier thrusting. “He does,” she replied, for him.

“Well, then...I should like to test your spear once more, ser knight…”

Estinien shook his head. “You truly are always like this, aren’t you?”

“You knew this well, yet you married me anyway,” Haurchefant pointed out, grinning impishly.

“It was their idea,” Estinien said, gesturing toward Aymeric and Gisele.

Haurchefant’s face fell a little, the light fading from eyes blue as a summer sky, the mischievous smile upon his lips crumbling before Gisele’s sight. “I…do you truly suffer me only because of them?”

Estinien leaned over, reaching up with dripping hands to take Haurchefant’s crestfallen face into them, stroking the lines of his jaw with gentle fingers. “Tis only a jest, Haurche, for you are as dear to mine heart as they. I only regret that I had not nearly lost you to know it. But I went to Azys Lla with a fury in me from which Nidhogg himself would flinch, and it was with fury that I sought Ser Zephirin’s entrails with my lance, for what he did to you.” 

Wordlessly, Haurchefant clung then to Estinien, tightly wrapping his arms about him—and Gisele—in a fierce embrace.

“Wait. You mentioned somewhat of an exchange, with the Buduga chief,” Aymeric said, kneading Gisele’s shoulder. “What was it?”

She laughed a bit wickedly, then, her face growing flush at the memory of it. “Ah…that. You see, for all the Buduga’s passions for men, some few of them equally enjoy the attentions of the fairer sex. I learned Daidukul Khan was one such, that day of the Nadaam, for once I claimed sacred ground, he became sick with desire for me. And so, when we returned to the Dawn Throne to ensure the Oronir and Buduga would count themselves among the Xaela army we would raise to reclaim Doma, I gave him a parting gift by way of apology for robbing him of his new toy—upon Magnai’s throne, no less. If it should also cement the loyalty of his clan to Hien’s cause, all the better.”

“And what a sight it was,” Haurchefant sighed, in blissful remembrance. “You should have seen them ravish her, he and his second.”

“Mayhap I should have joined the Scions after all,” Estinien muttered.

Haurchefant grinned, and kissed his ear. “It’s never too late to change your mind, you know…”

“Tch,” Estinien snorted.

Gisele knew that Haurchefant did not mean anything by it, but she meant to head off any further possible misunderstandings, and so stretched with a meaningful, exaggerated glance at her hands. “Oh, heavens, we’re all wrinkly. Shall we retire to the bedchamber, gentlemen?” she asked. “Assuming we are all fit to do so.”

It was with sensual laughter that Aymeric disentangled himself from them and ascended the stair to exit the water, then reached over and turned the dial to cease the water’s roiling; Haurchefant soon followed, releasing the stopper upon his way out. Heedless of his dripping upon the tiles, Aymeric stared down at Gisele with a smoldering look. “Does my lady require aid?”

Gisele bit her lip, fluttering her lashes coyly at him. “Mayhap. My lords have ridden me raw, I fear.”

Aymeric exchanged a glance with Haurchefant, and the latter took a large, plush towel from the shelf, tossing it to him.

“Pray, permit us to make our contrition and soothe you well,” Aymeric said, smiling, and let the enormous cloth open wide with beckoning arms. Gisele dreaded the prospect of leaving the soothing heat of the water, and winced as the breeze kissed her wet skin, but Estinien braced her, and aided her gallantly into Aymeric’s waiting arms.

And then they rubbed her down, by turns, enveloping her in fleece so soft she thought it might have been spun from the very clouds, and she was filled once more with warmth and content. Haurchefant laughed then, and rolled her up tight in it as rice within La Noscean grape leaves; Gisele giggled, and Estinien playfully scooped her up into his arms, carrying her into Aymeric’s bed chamber; the others followed soon thereafter, bearing glass decanters of oils and lotions with which to do so.

Of a surety, it was a profound truth that she and her knights availed themselves of the sharper pleasures with the greatest enthusiasm; but there, too, was a time for tenderness, and they adored sweets as much as spice. They found them that night, within the shadows of Aymeric’s bedchamber, and Gisele lost herself freely within them, as she always did in her loves.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Yukie.


End file.
